You're Not Like Him
by Katie1995
Summary: The hand on top of mine pulls the knife away from the neck it rests upon. "I'm right here, Sweetheart," replies a gentle voice. "Haymitch- My voice catches in my throat and I gulp, my eyes still shut. "Let go," he whispers, "You're not like him. R&R!


**(A/N – I do not own The Hunger Games or the characters in any way; all rights are reserved to Suzanne Collins.)**

**You're not Like Him.**

**Effie's P.O.V.**

I can see the concentration in Katniss' eyes as she steadies her arrow and pulls back the string of her bow, an arrow anchored in suspense shakes a little as she concentrates her aim. Her eyes so clear with hatred and concentration, that at this moment, I loathe her; loathe in the way that she can destroy the one man that has destroyed me.

President Snow.

He stands there, completely unfazed by what he is facing; his execution.

My breathing increases as Katniss pulls the arrow back again ever so slightly, and then pauses, leaving myself and the audience suspended. I catch my breath and cross my fingers, hoping that this girl who sparked the rebellion would make the President's last moments as painful as she could, painful like Seneca's, painful like the torture I had gone through to defend the Mockingjay and her fiancé, and painful like the deaths each tribute had faced for the past seventy-five years, including the victors who live with the nightmares and ghosts of children they once knew.

The sadistic joy of seeing him finally being brought to justice bubbles delightfully in my chest, but it soon disappears as I watch Katniss change her aim as quickly as she set it, sending the arrow into President Coin's skull. I must have fallen backwards as someone behind me catches me quickly and steadies me as the shock sinks in.

No, this can't be happening. This man, who has tortured every living soul in Panem in one way or another, has got away yet again. Anger. That is all I can feel as I make my way through the confused crowds and out into the streets where I see a bustling crowd of disappointed faces.

I swear through the crowd I catch Haymitch's face, but I'm unsure; there's too many people shouting and mumbling, walking and staggering, that I can hardly see clearly through the many faces that travel towards me. All I know is that there's one person still alive that needs to die – one person alive, that still taunts my ever living figure.

The knife in my boot feels so desirable suddenly. I knock my breath from my body as I realise the terrible thought. Could I really do something so extreme? Could I kill someone acting simply on feelings than rational thought?

This woman now, so full of raw anger could. So yes, I can, and I will.

I push myself through the crowd and towards the city square where people had been dismissed and two bodies remained, untouched and unmoving. Only one body appeared to be the truth; Coin's body.

I walked past the silver haired woman and towards a man tied to a wooden post. It was degrading how they had presented him, and again, satisfaction claimed me.

_Good, _I thought as I walked up to the white haired man. _How does it feel to be tied up like cattle and slaughtered?_

My footsteps echo as I walk up the wooden panelled stairs and onto the stage he stands central upon.

"Miss Trinket," he breathes, his voice hoarse as he spits out blood.

I pause for a moment, irritated that he has the audacity to even whisper my name. "Don't even speak," I spit, my temper flaring as he looks up, his snake like eyes meeting my blue ones, briefly. I look down at the floor, pools of blood have gathered at the former President's feet. His mouth is ringed with blood and I smile.

The white haired figure, broken like myself, looks puzzled at my expression. I draw the knife from my boot and his mouth twists into a grimace. "Well, well, well," he says, his hands fumbling behind him, "I'd never thought you'd be my end." He chuckles and I grit my teeth.

"You've showed us many surprises," I answer keeping my voice even, "I can't think how it would be so hard for you to think I can do this." The end of my index finger over the side of the blade and I smile. "And what makes it even better, is that you're hopelessly tied up." A smile twists my lips up and I step forwards.

The panic, so often seen in tributes as they face their last moments in the games, shines in President Snow's eyes now as I advance towards him.

"You remember everything, don't you," I whisper as I place the blade upon the skin of his throat, "You know I have experience with a knife." I press down harder and he squeaks as the cold blade rests against him. "Look at you now, you worthless creature."

The anger that was swirling within me grew stronger as I increased my grip on the handle of the knife. Angry tears swam in my eyes and threateningly offered to roll down my cheeks.

"Go on then," whispers Snow as I press down again, harder this time.

I close my eyes and breathe in, but as I go for the death blow, a hand is placed over mine.

"Effie, don't do this." I breathe out before answering.

"Why not?" I retort, because if it's one thing, I know I want this, or at least I think I do. "He's taken everything from me; my dignity, my life, my child, my fiancée, you."

The hand on top of mine pulls the knife away from the neck it rests upon. "I'm right here, Sweetheart," replies a gentle voice.

"Haymitch-

My voice catches in my throat and I gulp, my eyes still shut.

"Let go," he whispers, "You're not like him; you're not like _them._"

My fingers unfold around the handle and the sound of the blade making contact with the stage deafens us for a moment. I feel his hand that was rested upon mine snake up to hold me around the right upper arm, his other hand following lead. The hands spin me around and I feel a kiss being planted on my forehead and a whisper of, "You can open your eyes now."

I open them warily, ashamed for what I have done, and look up into the face of a man who has seen so much death a destruction that my problems now suddenly feel so insignificant to me.

"Hay-

But he places a finger over my lips and I fall silent. "Go," he orders, firmly, his eyes soft against his fierce tone.

"I can't just leave-

"Go," he repeats.

I drop my head, but he lifts my chin with a tender finger. "I'll meet you back in the hover craft. Now, go!"

I tip toe and kiss him on the cheek. "I'm sorry," I admit.

"Don't be," Haymitch answers.

The man who held me, takes his hands from my upper arms and turns his back on me so that I can't see what's happening. "Go!"

The urgency in his tone sets me walking – well, really, I was running back through the streets and small crowds still murmuring about the failed execution on President Snow. It's not until the man who told me to go stops me again and holds me close to him.

"It's over," Haymitch whispers.

I suddenly know what he was talking about and why he shielded me away. But instead of feeling disgusted, I finally understand him. "Thank you – from all of us, Haymitch, thank you."

Haymitch's arms hold me tighter and I breathe his scent in. "Someone had to do it – someone who had enough anger inside themselves. You're not one of those people, Effie."

"I felt so angry," I cry, pathetically.

"We all did, we all do, all we need to know now, is that that anger will never have to be experienced again; I promise."

I rest my head on his chest as tears slip from my eyes and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calms me slightly. "What happens now?"

"Nobody knows."

**A/N – This suddenly hit me and I just had to right it. I always thought the definition of Snow's death was feeble in Mockingjay considering he had hurt so many people – in a way, I found this far more fitting than what his death was actually like.**

**Anyways, if you enjoyed this, Please Review!**

**Thanks, Katie1995. :)**


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